


a golden bracelet

by Potoo



Series: burn the world [1]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Blood and Violence, Denial of Feelings, Fear of Death, First Time, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Loyalty, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Pre-Canon, Shame, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potoo/pseuds/Potoo
Summary: “Youwon’t fuck me over,” Pablo stated, “there’s nothing you’re keeping from me, right?”Gustavo swallowed. “No, Pablo, nothing,” he lied and shifted on the chair again. Pablo’s hands shot up to his knees, one on each.“You sure?” Pablo asked, insisted, while he looked straight at Gustavo, and – – suddenly Gustavo felt naked under his gaze, divested of all his protective covers, of every feeble denial he had ever tried to shroud himself in.He knows, he thought, with a sudden, startling, and horrifying clarity.---A young Pablo and Gustavo face death, which forces them to face something even more dangerous seething within them.





	a golden bracelet

**Author's Note:**

> CW for canon-typical violence, canon-typical homophobia, and canon-typical homophobic language. 
> 
> \---
> 
> This is set in 1969, when Pablo is 19 and Gustavo is 22.

The man was trembling in fear, so Gustavo held him down more firmly than strictly necessary. His left hand was on the bastard’s shoulder while his right hand gripped a gun he was currently pressing against his temple. Pedro Rodrigo Gómez Díaz would not have much longer to live, that was for sure – the only question that remained was how much he was going to suffer before his death.

They were in a small hut, abandoned by its owners years ago, the kind of place where rats and roaches could be heard scuttling across the floors even at daytime and the foul stench of decay permeated floors, walls, decrepit furniture, and the humid air. Gómez was sitting in the middle of the room, on a half-rotten wooden chair, while Pablo was kneeling on the ground in front of him. Gustavo’s gaze was fixed on Gómez. He was a short, stocky man with blue eyes and black hair that was soaked in cheap hair gel, wearing fashion from five years ago. He was around Gustavo’s age, but you’d never guess it from the hunted, perpetually tart look in his eyes. Although Gustavo’s gaze was on Gómez, his attention lay almost entirely on Pablo, who, in turn, regarded Gómez quietly. It had to be incredible, Gustavo thought, to be at the receiving end of this intense gaze. In contrast to Gómez, in whom it inspired nothing but deadly terror, it made Gustavo’s stomach lurch forward in a feeling he recognized clearly yet did not want to name. To name it would make it real, and it was _not_ real – Pablo did not make him feel anything else but what he was supposed to feel for his cousin. End of the matter.

There was another person in the hut, standing in a corner of the room. Alfredo Moreno, a gangster that was around thirty years old, with thinning brown hair, a green purse slung loosely around his hips and a gun held casually in his left hand. A thin golden bracelet was wrapped around that same hand’s wrist. 23 karat and pure, Moreno had claimed yesterday when Gustavo had complimented the jewelry, with a considerable amount of pride in his voice. Moreno was a friend of Gómez’, but nevertheless he seemed content to watch Pablo handle the situation without intervening. “Please, Pablo, I swear–!” Gómez mewled, an annoying sound which prompted Gustavo to push his barrel harder against his matted, greased-back hair. The breath of the bastard hitched and he audibly pulled up snot. Disgusting. “I didn’t take your share, it must’ve been – I’d never take your share, I’m your friend! Right, we’re friends? We’re the best of friends!” Gustavo snorted in dry amusement. This wailing was hilarious, and not only because it was so entirely without dignity; but also because the lie was so easy to see through. Gustavo himself had observed the bastard’s treacherous purchase only a few hours ago, which meant that it was Gustavo’s word against Gómez’, and, well – that was a match almost _too_ unfair.

Pablo made a soft humming sound, staring right into Gómez’ eyes. That sound was another thing that made Gustavo’s insides do things they shouldn’t be doing. Like a whole lot of the shit Pablo was doing recently. His cousin had just turned nineteen, and Gustavo just couldn't _stop_ thinking about him the wrong way. His little Pablito was a grown man now, and apparently that meant Gustavo was fucked beyond all hope. Pablo’s height had shot up, for one – half a head within one year – and his shoulders were noticeably broader these days. His mustache had grown in, thick and magnificent, endowing him with a distinguished air. He had gained muscle definition, although he remained soft around the edges, which, in Gustavo’s opinion, was even better. Additionally, he tended to wear his gun tucked down the front of his jeans, which always directed Gustavo’s gaze right where he shouldn’t be looking. His beautiful black curls framed his face, and, along with his rosy lips, gave him the appearance of a Colombian cherub, right out of a religious painting. But, most importantly, his eyes had gained... _something_ these past few months. Gustavo did not have the words to describe what this _something_ was, but it was unmistakably there. An edge; a sharp glint; a wildness; a spirit made of iron, maybe, or all of these together. Whatever it was, it made Pablo appear dangerous, like a venomous snake, and _that_ was what made Gustavo want him, as shameful as it was.

“Pablo, please!” Speaking of shame – Gómez seemed to lack it entirely, judging from his begging. He sobbed. “I didn’t take your money, I didn’t! I swear to God! I can explain everything!” The thing that made Gómez plead this desperately was that Gustavo wasn’t the only one pointing a gun at the sorry son of a bitch. Pablo had his gun pointed at him too. To be exact, pointed at his balls. A man might be brave facing death, but even the bravest man pissed himself in fear if a gun was shoved between his legs. It was genius, Gustavo thought. Medellín’s criminal underground had been dominated by knives and other simple weapons for dozens of years. Pablo acquiring and using a gun – that had truly changed the game. Gustavo was very happy to be _with_ the game-changer and not against him.

Pablo hummed thoughtfully once again. When he spoke, it was low and quiet. “What happened, Pedro?” he prompted Gómez. “I’ll allow you explain yourself.”

Gustavo remembered yesterday’s mugging clearly. Pablo and Alfredo Moreno had planned it together. Apparently Alfredo Moreno was an acquaintance of Pablo’s, and he had some knowledge about ’lucrative business opportunities’. They wanted to mug an oligarch, owner of several banks in Medellín, after his weekly Friday evening dinner with his wife. They would ambush them at their favorite place, some high-end lobster place in another neighborhood, with the whole thing taking less than five minutes, hopefully. The banker always brought an armed bodyguard everywhere he went, and so Pablo and Moreno had brought in Gustavo and Gómez, respectively. Gustavo hadn’t known Gómez before this heist; a little gangster, not even an owner of a gun yet, only a machete much too big for him. Around Gustavo’s age, yes, but infinitely more stupid. Pablo and Moreno both knew him well, independent from each other, and both vouched for him. They had agreed that Pablo and Moreno would get thirty-five percent, while Gustavo and Gómez would get fifteen each, which was fine with Gustavo. Gómez had stabbed the bodyguard, Moreno had taken care of the wife’s jewels, and Pablo and Gustavo had taken the money off the banker. Everything had gone off without a hitch, and they’d gone home to Gustavo’s place to count their money and estimate the jewels as quickly as possible. They’d made more than eighteen thousand pesos in total, including the jewels, which was a bit less than expected but not by much. Pablo had agreed to take the jewels as his share. They were worth a bit more than thirty-five percent, but it would be a hassle to find a dealer to get rid of them, so everyone had agreed that this was fair. After business had been completed, they had decided to party for a bit. Gómez had passed around a whole lot of alcohol, and at some point in the night, Gustavo’s memory had begun to grow hazy. The next morning, Pablo had woken him; Gustavo had been surprised to find himself on the ground, lying on his side, a threadbare moth-ridden rug the only thing protecting him from the cold stone floor. ’Someone took my jewels,’ Pablo had told him, grimly, and then the two of them had begun to search for their former colleagues despite Gustavo’s headache. They’d found Moreno quickly, and questioned him, but Pablo said that he was clean, and the three of them had gone to look for Gómez without finding him. A day later, Gustavo had seen Gómez in an electronics store, and found out that he had just bought a brand-new two-way radio worth far, far more than his share should have been. It was possible, sure, that there was an innocent explanation for that, but in Gustavo’s experience, it was not likely. If it walked and quacked like a duck, it was most likely a duck; if it walked and talked like a thief, it was most likely a thief. He did not have much trust in his fellow criminals’ honor. And now, they were here with Gómez, after Pablo, Gustavo and Moreno had taken him to this place where they could interrogate him in peace, without nosy neighbors who could hear screams or, worse, call the cops.

Gómez took a deep breath. He was still trembling. “It’s – so. So. Alright.” He apparently tried to calm himself down enough to speak. “The night we celebrated. I was drinking. We were all drinking... too much... and, ...well, Pablo.” Alfredo Moreno, in the corner, passed his gun from one hand to the other. It made Gustavo uneasy, to be honest. Gómez and Moreno were supposed to be friends; perhaps now was the time that Moreno decided he didn’t want his friend to lose his life or even his balls. Gómez leaned forward and began to whisper conspiratorially to Pablo, but he was loud enough to be heard clearly be everyone in the room. “It was Gaviria there. He was the one who took your jewels that night. I wanted to tell you, but I think I drank too much and I woke up at my bitch’s place and then I couldn’t – I couldn’t find you, you see.”

Alfredo Moreno nodded slowly. “I think – that’s true, what he says. You know how I didn’t drink as much as you three? I saw Gaviria stuffing his pockets with the jewels. I thought I had mistaken it with some worthless coins, but now that Gómez says that... I bet they’re still in there right fucking now, ’cause he’s so convinced you’re too dumb and naive to search him.”

Pablo regarded Gómez motionless, apparently deep in thought.

“I _swear_ ,” Gómez insisted. “I swear on everything, Pablo. I swear on my life, on God, on my whore mother. That’s the truth, nothing but the truth, really.” At the same time, Alfredo Moreno was raising his gun, and he was pointing it at – Gustavo. Gustavo swallowed, but did not move his gun away from Gómez’ temple, although his palms felt rather sweaty all of a sudden. Pablo glanced at Moreno for a second, almost carelessly, then he directed his attention back to Gómez.

He took his gun off Gómez’s balls, which prompted the asshole to breathe in relief, and slowly raised it until it was pointed at Gustavo’s forehead. Now Gustavo had two guns pointed at his head. This was _not_ how he had expected this day to go. “What do you have to say to that, Gaviria?” Pablo said in this eerie monotonous voice he used in negotiations, “did you try to take what’s mine?” Gustavo looked at Pablo incredulously. What the fuck was Pablo playing at? His cousin knew he’d never steal from him. He’d never betray him. But then he remembered – neither Gómez nor Alfred Moreno knew they were family, had grown up together closer than brothers, and that Pablo would never seriously consider that Gustavo would betray him over less than seven thousand pesos. It was a staged play, Gustavo understood from one single glance at Pablo’s eyes, and within one second, a thousand unspoken words passed between them. Why would Pablo stage a play? Gustavo’s gaze moved from Pablo’s gun to Moreno’s gun back to Pablo. Easy. The play was supposed to grab their attention, to distract them in order to take them by surprise, and kill both Gómez and Moreno at once. Gustavo nodded, almost imperceptible to a casual on-looker, but Pablo would see it without a doubt. He understood what Pablo wanted him to do. Play along.

“Pablo, I – I –” he stuttered.

“Show us the insides of your pockets, Gaviria,” Pablo ordered, and the tone of his voice sent fear tingling down his spine, and – something else, and Gustavo was discovering, to his horror, that his dick was twitching. His life was in acute danger, he had to put on a play with Pablo to get out of here alive, and the tone of Pablo’s voice made him hard. He was _so_ fucked.

“Okay. Alright. Relax, friend,” Gustavo said, trying to sound reasonable. He was still looking intently at Pablo, moving his left hand down to his pocket. Pablo looked over at Moreno, who was lowering his gun by just an inch, and then Pablo blinked. Gustavo knew this was the sign without being told to do anything. He fired his gun, still on Gómez’ temple, while at the same time, Pablo shot Moreno, straight through the heart. Moreno collapsed immediately; Gómez slid off the chair, and both of them hit the floor with a soft _thump_. Gustavo only noticed how tense he was when he let out a shaky breath. Pablo stood up in a fluid, cat-like motion, and walked over to Moreno’s body. The man was still alive, apparently, because he gurgled faintly. Gustavo was shaken, but could not keep himself from walking over to Pablo, hovering just behind him. He looked down at Alfredo Moreno, slumped on the ground, a wide crimson splotch spreading on his shirt. There was frantic, panicked loathing in his eyes as he looked up at Pablo. Pablo cocked his gun.

“First. You lied to me, motherfucker,” Pablo told Moreno in a cool tone. In answer, Moreno coughed up blood and an insult which sounded like ’cocksucker’. His breathing was erratic. He had less than a minute to live, Gustavo estimated. He didn’t want to think about the fact that it could have been _him_ pathetically bleeding out like this right now, if Pablo hadn’t shot first. Pablo had saved his life, he realized. “Second. You _insulted_ me. Gustavo would never take my share. You honestly thought I’d _believe_ you?” Pablo seemed outrageously offended by all of this, Gustavo noted – considerably more offended than he himself was. Which was saying something, all things considered. “Third. You tried to take what’s mine. Dumb fuck,” Pablo stated, and Gustavo didn’t need to look at him to know Moreno would not even live the last full minute of his life. He heard the trigger go off and then a gunshot, and Moreno was not breathing erratically anymore.

They stared at the corpse to their feet for a few silent seconds. A puddle of blood was seeping out of Moreno’s head, sticky red covering the floor.

Gustavo exhaled, audibly relieved. “Oh, fuck this, brother,” he said and realized his voice was strained and shaky, but there was no way he could get it to cooperate, not with the fear still pulsing through his veins and his semi still throbbing between his legs. He walked back to the chair and sat down, in order to stare at the ceiling uninterrupted while he prayed his mind to return to normal. After a few silent moments, he looked over at Pablo, who still stared down at Moreno’s corpse. His entire body was tense, and he even trembled a bit, Gustavo noted. What? Why was he trembling? He couldn’t be afraid, not like Gómez had been, because the danger has been eliminated – but then what was going on? Gustavo received the answer to that question a second later, when Pablo turned around. He was staring at the ground, but Gustavo could nevertheless make out his expression – an expression of unadulterated, unbridled rage. Unbidden, Gustavo swallowed, but his throat was parched. Why the hell was Pablo _this_ angry? They dealt with backstabbing assholes on the regular. This was nothing out of the ordinary. “You alright?” Gustavo asked, but his voice was still strained, which annoyed him.

Pablo just stared at the ground like an angry bull instead of answering. His breath was coming in hard and heavy. Gustavo had rarely seen Pablo this furious before, despite the fact that he was prone to sudden violent outbursts of emotions. It was even rarer to watch Pablo attempting to keep his emotions under control like now. The teenager Gustavo had known usually let them come and go as they wished. But, well, Pablo was a man now, as he’d already taken note of, so it was in his best interest to learn to control his explosive reactions. Still – Gustavo was unnerved by the fact that Pablo wouldn’t reply. “Hey. Pablo. Don’t let them get to you, huh? Everything worked out fine. Now we get their shares too. Seventy for you, thirty for me, that sounds good, doesn’t it? That’s – that’s thirteen thousand for you. Better than expected.”

Pablo’s head snapped up, and – _oh fuck_. He _was_ afraid, Gustavo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was a crazed, panicked look in his eyes, and his whites were showing, the exact same look of terror Gustavo had always seen in the faces of wild hares they’d hunted in the mountains as children. “The fucker pointed a gun at you!” Pablo almost yelled and shot Moreno’s corpse another time, before he stalked over to Gómez’ body and shot it as well. “They wanted me to _kill_ you!” Gustavo tried to breathe evenly, but that suddenly seemed very difficult. Pablo shot Gómez again, and again, and then his magazine was empty but he still pulled the trigger twice without an effect, and so he threw the gun down at the corpse’s head. “Fuck!” he cursed loudly.

Gustavo reached out to Pablo. The moment his fingers brushed against the skin of Pablo’s arm, electricity shot through him, more painful than any bullet ever could. “Pablo, calm down,” he urged his cousin. He wasn’t sure what it was that made Pablo this angry – that Moreno and Gómez had lied to him, or that they had lied to him _badly_ , which implied that they thought Pablo to be a moron, or that they had threatened Gustavo, or that they had tried to manipulate Pablo to threaten Gustavo, or that they had tried to take what was his, whatever Pablo meant by that. Maybe all of it taken together. Pablo turned his face towards Gustavo the moment he touched his arm, and the insanity in his eyes softened bit. “It’s a dangerous business, brother,” Gustavo told Pablo in what he hoped was a soothing tone, but he sensed that he was still too excited himself to be very soothing. “High risk, high reward, that’s just how it is. I’ve faced far more dangerous situations than this. People like us always need a little luck in life.” In truth, Gustavo was not so sure he had faced more dangerous situations than two guns pointed at his head, but he decided not to say that.

“Hmm,” Pablo hummed affirmatively. He seemed to be calming down. His gaze flitted all along Gustavo’s body, which made Gustavo feel oddly exposed; he tried not to let that show and held back a squirm. His stubborn semi did not show, did it? That would be – awful, just awful. It was wrong in so many ways, he knew. He shouldn’t get hard because of Pablo for a thousand reasons. Number one, he was a man, and Gustavo wasn’t a fag. Number two, he was his cousin, his little cousin that he’d watched grow up. Number three, even _if_ Gustavo was a faggot, which he wasn’t, and even _if_ Pablo wasn’t his little cousin, which he definitely was, he shouldn’t be aroused by Pablo ordering him around, or by the dangerous blaze in his eyes. Pablo’s gaze was inquisitive, but it returned from its roaming to peer at Gustavo’s eyes. “These cocksuckers. Thinking they can fuck me over.”

“Nobody fucks you over, cousin,” Gustavo agreed, and Pablo nodded once, humming again.

“You didn’t take my share, did you?” Pablo’s tone had gone oddly soft, which made Gustavo shift uncomfortably without planning to do so. What? He wasn’t – there was no need for a play anymore, their prospective audience was decidedly dead on the ground. Gustavo looked at Pablo sceptically. He shouldn’t even deign that accusation with an answer. “Hmm. Let me check.”

”Pablo, what the hell?” Gustavo asked, although there was no real spirit in his voice. He was less offended than he was confused. Pablo could not _seriously_ believe he had stolen from him, so – why the fuck was he doing this?

Pablo went down to his knees, which momentarily distracted Gustavo from his confusion because by _God_ did Pablo look good like this, kneeling in front of him. Without hesitation, he pushed a hand into Gustavo’s jeans pocket. Gustavo let him, although he wasn’t sure what the goal of this whole thing was supposed to be. And, he had to admit, he liked that Pablo was touching him, even if it was in such an insignificant way. He needed that right now. He needed it far too much, and in ways that were entirely unacceptable, but he was too tired-out by having his life threatened that he would try to fight. Pablo unearthed a button, two pieces of rolling paper, and a key from the first pocket, before he immediately pushed his hand down the other pocket too. Gustavo sighed in badly feigned annoyance while Pablo rummaged in his pocket and brought out a crisp counterfeit note of one hundred US dollars, a handful of coins, a condom, and a piece of soft candy. He proceeded to unwrap the candy and popped it into his mouth, while he left Gustavo’s other belongings on the ground. A puddle of blood from Gómez’ body was starting to seep in their direction. Pablo crumpled up the candy’s wrapping paper and threw it at Gómez’ lifeless face, where it bounced off his nose. Gustavo rolled his eyes.

“ _You_ won’t fuck me over,” Pablo stated, “there’s nothing you’re keeping from me, right?”

Gustavo swallowed. “No, Pablo, nothing,” he lied and shifted on the chair again. Pablo’s hands shot up to his knees, one on each.

“You sure?” Pablo asked, insisted, while he looked straight at Gustavo, and – – suddenly Gustavo felt naked under his gaze, divested of all his protective covers, of every feeble denial he had ever tried to shroud himself in. _He knows_ , he thought, with a sudden, startling, and horrifying clarity. Pablo knew about all those sick desires he had, about how a single touch from Pablo was all Gustavo’s body needed these days to get going; about how he thought about Pablo’s eyes and lips by night when it was dark and he felt like he could hide from everyone and everything, even from himself; about how merely hearing his cousin’s voice sent shivers down his spine. Gustavo was more ashamed than ever, and he felt heat rushing to his head, his cheeks tinting a revealing red as he evaded Pablo’s gaze. He couldn’t answer Pablo. Fuck, he couldn’t even admit it to himself, how should he put it into words for Pablo? Pablo would be disgusted. He’d grab his gun and reload it and put a bullet into Gustavo’s head, if he was lucky, granting him a clean and quick death; and if he was unlucky, he’d torture him before killing him. And even if Pablo through some miracle decided to let him live, Gustavo would not be able to look at him ever again. He’d have to move out of Medellín. No more joking around with Pablo, no more bankers to mug, no more tourists to swindle, and no more late-night joints to smoke together. But all of that paled compared to the vision of Pablo staring at him with nothing but pure hatred in his eyes. Gustavo couldn’t lie to Pablo again, not like this, not when Pablo already knew what was going on; but he also couldn’t say the truth. So he said nothing while Pablo waited for a shameful confession that would never come.

Pablo’s fingers dug into Gustavo’s knees. “Tell me, Gustavo,” Pablo whispered. Gustavo continued to evade his gaze. “Tell me what you don’t want me to hear.”

“Pablo...” Gustavo murmured, his voice close to a pathetic whimper, begging to be spared this humiliation. Pablo should just kill him instead of doing _this_. Suddenly Gustavo wished that Moreno had shot him and been done with it. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit.

Pablo made a scoffing noise, exhaling loudly. “Do you think I’m blind? Or stupid? Which is it?”

“I don’t think you’re either of those,” Gustavo protested, but his voice was still so quiet that it was nearly disappearing. “I think you’re the least stupid man I know.” Maybe flattery would help his cause, and besides, it was the truth.

“Then why do you think you can hide this from me?” Pablo immediately questioned, as if this was an interrogation, and Gustavo realized that it probably was.

“I...” Gustavo began, but there was no explanation on earth which would prompt Pablo to not hate him, so he fell silent again. Pablo kept watching him, and then he grabbed Gustavo’s chin harshly, forcing him to look at Pablo. Pablo’s grip was strong and merciless and even now Gustavo relished in the sensation of that warm skin against his stubble.

He was surprised to see that there was no hatred in Pablo’s eyes. Only the dark intensity he had been longing for.

Pablo sighed and seemed to reconsider. “Are you scared, Gustavo?” he asked, his tone so low it went directly to Gustavo’s dick. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was in such deep shit. He nodded helplessly. “Hmm. I was scared when Moreno pointed that gun at you. I wanted to strangle him right there and then.”

Pablo looked at Gustavo, apparently expecting a reaction. Gustavo made an affirmative noise. He didn’t know how else to react. He wasn’t glad, exactly, that the prospect of his death _frightened_ his cousin – that meant he was a weakness for Pablo, and in their business, having a weakness was something that was rarely tolerated. But although he wasn’t glad, he was egoistic enough to be delighted to hear that – to hear that he was that important to Pablo. His emotions were going haywire, and the extreme physical proximity Pablo was establishing between them did not help, not at all.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Pablo said, and it sounded like a confession of some sort. The gaze out of big, dark eyes turned soft, and Gustavo felt his fear abate. Pablo was making himself vulnerable by admitting all of this, and the fact that they were both afraid in their own way soothed Gustavo. He knew that he shouldn’t tell Pablo the truth, but at the same time he also knew that his cousin deserved to hear it, deserved not to be lied to. He deserved so much. He deserved the world. So what about it if Gustavo would never see Pablo smile again? At least then he had done his duty to his cousin and could die knowing he hadn’t lied to him with his final words. In the back of his mind, there was the suspicious thought that Pablo was playing him like a fiddle, that he only claimed to be vulnerable now to get Gustavo to open up, but – the part of Gustavo that truly mattered didn’t believe that Pablo was manipulating him, and the other part simply didn’t care.

“I want to fuck you.” The words stumbled out of his mouth the same way that a drunk man stumbled out of his local bar in the early hours of the morning, dazed and fuzzy, confused and disoriented, but somehow sure in the path that would take him home even if his feet gave out. “Fuck, Pablo. I’m so fucked up, it’s not right, I know. I’m sorry. Really. I’ll stop it, just give me a chance, I–”

Pablo interrupted him. He surged up, pressed both hands to Gustavo’s cheeks, and – kissed him. Gustavo could only stare at Pablo in shock, paralyzed and unmoving. Pablo’s tongue slid over his closed lips tantalizingly, and – fuck. Gustavo opened his mouth, welcomed Pablo inside, and knew in that moment that he was more lost than ever before. Gustavo tasted sweetness – raspberry, he thought, drifting into a daze – and wondered where it came from until he remembered the candy Pablo had taken from him. He grasped Pablo’s neck, holding on to him as if he couldn’t quite believe all of this was real, and closed his eyes in bliss. Fuck, this was – this was much better than he had fantasized. Mostly because it was _real_. Pablo was _kissing him_ , and he tasted so sweet and so _good_ , and every swipe of his cousin’s tongue made Gustavo go a little madder. He grunted into the kiss and felt Pablo’s lips stretch into a smile, but the kiss went on, and on, and on. When Pablo broke off, Gustavo opened his eyes in renewed confusion, his mind numb, his face hot, and his heart beating up to his neck. Pablo was closing the distance between them and then Pablo was _sitting in his lap_. His weight settled on Gustavo as if it belonged there, his ass right on the growing bulge barely kept in rein by Gustavo’s jeans. Gustavo considered asking what, exactly, was happening right now, but he feared that if he said anything to shatter this illusion, Pablo would come to his senses. And now that Gustavo had had a taste of Pablo, he didn’t want to let it go ever again.

“Are you a fag, Gustavo?” Pablo asked, his tone steely, permitting neither excuses nor lies. Gustavo shook his head wordlessly. “Good. Neither am I.” Gustavo nodded. Pablo shifted on top of him and Gustavo could not hold back a moan at the way this made Pablo’s skin grind over his dick, even through several layers of clothing. Pablo bit his lower lip. Gustavo’s moan must’ve had some kind of effect on him, judging by the way his thighs were tensing. “Therefore, doing this isn’t gay.” Pablo added. That made sense, Gustavo thought, but maybe he only thought that because most of his blood was quickly traveling to a place it was needed more sorely than his head.

“Yes,” Gustavo agreed, “not gay.” Now that this was out of the way, he took the initiative and wrapped both arms around Pablo’s back, tugging him closer in order to kiss him again. Pablo rushed forward at the same time so that their teeth clanked together. Pablo bit down on Gustavo’s lower lip, and Gustavo returned the favor by rutting his hips against Pablo’s ass like an animal. This elicited a strangled sound from Pablo, a noise sweeter even than the taste of him. Gustavo couldn’t get rid of the notion that Pablo would kill him soon for his inappropriate desires, so he decided to speed up the process to get as much of Pablo as he could before he died. He reached between them and fumbled with the zipper of Pablo’s jeans, pushing it down as best as he could, along with the white cotton underwear he wore. This meant that not only was Pablo’s dick right there for him, but also that his ass was only separated from Gustavo’s hard-on by his own clothes, which was infinitely better. Pablo hissed and bit down on his lower lip again, which made Gustavo taste blood, before he broke the kiss and looked at the space between them.

“Since when?” Pablo asked, and Gustavo noted with a shiver of pleasure that his voice was a bit strained. This _affected_ Pablo. However, Gustavo did not understand what he had just asked. He felt dumb and slow, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered as long as Pablo was sitting on him.

“Huh?” he asked for clarification while he dragged his fist along Pablo’s shaft teasingly. It was a strange feeling, to be touching another man’s dick, but it wasn’t bad, not as long as it was Pablo’s. The skin was silken and very hot in his hand, and it made Pablo twitch in the best of ways.

“Since when have you wanted this,” Pablo clarified, his voice a low growl emerging from the back of his throat. That tone made it even more difficult for Gustavo to concentrate on keeping up a conversation instead of ravaging his cousin.

“Uh. Dunno. Some months. You’re-” He wanted to tell Pablo that he was beautiful, sexy, breathtaking, the same shit he told his bitches, but he wasn’t sure Pablo would appreciate being treated like a woman. “-you’re so – everything about you.” He probably made very little sense, but Pablo nodded as if he understood what Gustavo was trying to tell him. Then, Pablo’s hand slid between them, and he opened Gustavo’s zipper with much less difficulty than Gustavo had faced the other way around. Pablo’s knuckles grazed over Gustavo’s cock, and that sensation took his entire breath away for a few seconds. He bit down on his lip, to ground himself in the bitter iron taste and keep himself from coming right then.

“Three years,” Pablo murmured, using a tone Gustavo himself had only used with his priest during confession – quiet, secretive, confidential, and intended only for one single person. Once again, however, he did not understand what Pablo was trying to tell him, and the way Pablo took hold of his cock now was _not_ helpful. The puzzlement was probably showing on Gustavo’s face, because Pablo drew his eyebrows together in annoyance and elaborated. “I’ve been wanting this for three years.”

“Oh,” Gustavo breathed. That simple fact sent a devastating wave of pleasure crashing over him, and – – fuck. He was coming, he couldn’t stop it anymore, not with all of his willpower. Pablo wanted this. Pablo had been wanting this for years. He wanted – he wanted, fuck – he wanted Gustavo. _Pablo_ wanted _Gustavo_. His eyes slid closed while his mouth stood open, he was moaning in ecstasy, he was holding on to Pablo desperately, his fingernails digging into him through his shirt, and he was coming all over his cousin’s hand. Gustavo panted heavily while he was coming down from his high, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Pablo regarding him intently. His cousin raised his hand, and when Gustavo saw that it was covered in a sticky white fluid, he felt a phantom twitch in his dick. Pablo lapped at the stuff once, an image which seared itself into Gustavo’s brain forever, before he pulled a face and wiped the rest of it off on Gustavo’s shirt. Gustavo simply stared at him, enraptured and bewitched. “That made you come, hmm? Knowing that I want you?”

Gustavo felt like he could never say anything again in his entire life, ever, for lack of breath and for lack of a working throat. He made an undignified noise, which was at least _some_ kind of answer. Pablo began to smirk, and that – fuck. Gustavo didn’t think that this bastard could look even hotter, but he somehow managed to surprise him. He began to shake his head very, very slowly. “N-no,” he said, just as slowly, as if he had to relearn how to speak in its entirety. “It’s – everything. All of this made me come. That you want me. Yes. And. Your tongue, your – eyes. Your hair. Thighs. Ass. Your – dick. And – you’re in my lap!" The last sentence was almost indignant, but in Gustavo’s opinion, it explained _everything_.

“Hmm,” Pablo hummed. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils blown wide, and he was still breathing heavily. Gustavo licked his lips. The sight made him stir again easily. Pablo began to move and rutted against him, which dragged his cock over the V above Gustavo’s groin. His shirt rode up in the process, and the skin on skin contact was just as delicious as the way the motion made Pablo’s ass slide over Gustavo’s dick. Fucking hell; if Pablo didn’t decide to kill him with a bullet, this teasing would definitely do the job instead. Pablo repeated the motion, and his movement grew more sloppy and more hasty with every snap of his hips. Gustavo’s head rolled back involuntarily, his tongue sticking out of his open mouth, and one of his hands grabbed Pablo’s head. His fingers slid through beautiful black curls, and then he tugged at them which made Pablo growl in that gorgeous way of his. “You like that?” Gustavo asked quietly, and Pablo growled again, which was as good an answer as any, Gustavo supposed. His other hand slid down to Pablo’s dick, but Pablo swatted it away after two firm strokes, and so it ended up on Pablo’s ass. Gustavo squeezed it, and Pablo’s eyes darkened further.

“Pablo...” Gustavo moaned. His dick was hard again by now. If Pablo’s maddening rutting hadn’t done the job, watching the lust slowly take over his cousin would have without a doubt. “Let me fuck you, huh?”

Pablo placed a hand on Gustavo’s cheek and dug his fingernails into the skin until red marks appeared. It hurt like a bitch, but somehow that only made Gustavo harder. “Told you. I’m not a fag. I won’t have your dick in my ass.” Just hearing that act described in Pablo’s breathless, whispered voice did things to Gustavo he hadn’t thought possible.

“Fuck, Pablo,” he said, his voice strained to its breaking point. “C’mon. It’s not gay, huh? It’s just-” Gustavo didn’t really have a good argument why taking it up the ass _wasn’t_ gay. Stroking each other off, even rutting, that could be explained away. That’s what you did with girls too. Had he gone too far? Fuck, he’d gone too far, hadn’t he? But no use turning back now, he told himself. “-it’s what we both want. And I almost died for you today.”

Pablo glared at him. So that was how a rat felt the moment a hungry cat spotted it, Gustavo thought, and then Pablo descended on him, attacked his neck like a beast, and it hurt, it really hurt but it was really good at the same time, and by the time Pablo released him, a wide, thick bruise was beginning to form. It was far above Gustavo’s collar, and it would be a mark that would stay with him for some time, for all the world to see. “You think that’s worth it?” Pablo asked, his mouth one inch from Gustavo’s jugular. Gustavo shivered violently, and his hips were snapping up to re-establish much-needed friction between them. “Having a gun pointed at your head just for the _chance_ to fuck me?”

“Yes,” Gustavo replied instantly, without even the fraction of a second as consideration; as if there was no doubt about it, and to be honest, there wasn’t. Pablo in his lap made all that had happened worth it. Would make a hundred guns pointed at him worth it. A thousand. More! Dying. It would be worth dying, he thought, his mind growing more dazed by the second.

“Huh,” Pablo replied quietly and leaned back slightly. He raised his hand to his mouth, licked a broad swipe along it, and then grabbed Gustavo’s dick harshly, tugging up and down and spreading his saliva along the shaft. Gustavo didn’t really understand what was going on anymore, but it was good, real good, wherever this was going was a great direction. He attached himself to Pablo’s mouth again, kissing him greedily, and Pablo returned it with just as much as need. And then, when Gustavo was sure that he was about to come a second time, Pablo leaned as far back as possible while remaining on Gustavo’s lap. Gustavo blinked, hit with terribly cold air. “Come back,” he said, and Pablo grabbed the side of his face roughly.

“Beg for it,” he demanded, and Gustavo bristled. He would not _beg_ Pablo for anything. That was far too debasing. At the same time, the order made him feel heady once again.

“I won’t beg for anything,” Gustavo replied hotly, “I’ve got my pride. I’m not a pussy!”

Pablo’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Gustavo really, _really_ wanted to feel him again. “And I’m not a fag, but you can fuck me. If you beg for it.”

That felt like a punch that instantly took all of Gustavo’s breath away. He stared at Pablo incredulously. He – fuck, he was serious, wasn’t he? Gustavo licked his lips, and the words came faster than he was comfortable with, but at least they came. “Fuck, Pablo,” he groaned loudly, the sound reverberating from the room’s dirty walls. “Yes. Fuck. Please. Please come back, please let me – let me fuck you. Please.” So much for his pride, he thought. Pablo was still looking at him expectantly. “Just – please, Pablo. Pablo. _Pablo._ Need you. Please. You’re – you’re – – please."

“Well done,” Pablo commended him, and Gustavo felt his heart flutter, preening under the praise, and then Pablo leaned back towards him, raised his hips, and – – oh, Lord, oh God, sweet Mary Mother of Jesus, God, Jesus _Christ_. Gustavo’s lips were moving in his silent prayer consisting only of names, but no words came out, all of them choked out of him while Pablo slid down on his cock. It did not seem to be easy, and Pablo grunted loudly, until he was seated entirely on Gustavo, and that was a feeling he couldn’t – he wouldn’t – –

“Oh God,” Gustavo groaned, completely overwhelmed by the incredible tightness around him. “Pablo, you feel so – so good – the best,” he stammered out between forcing down desperate gulps of breath. Pablo’s lips were graced by the shadow of a smile, and fuck, that just made him look better, softer and sharper at the same time, and Gustavo felt as if he was overflowing with desire, with affection, with any and every emotion one could feel for another human being.

“Hmm,” Pablo said, just as breathless as Gustavo and nearly as overwhelmed as him. Gustavo began to move, to shift his hips up to begin fucking Pablo in earnest, but Pablo placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “No,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “You won’t move.”

“Pablo, please–!” Gustavo objected, but Pablo just shook his head, and Gustavo shut his mouth. He tried to be patient and counted to ten, but after three, he lost his concentration, could only watch Pablo, his gaze following a bead of sweat trickling from Pablo’s forehead down to his cheek, then to his neck, and then disappearing beneath his collar. If Gustavo wasn’t allowed to move, then he _had_ to be allowed to watch, he thought feverishly and started to pull at Pablo’s shirt until the buttons ripped and his chest was revealed. This was not the first time Gustavo had seen his cousin’s naked chest; of course not. When it was excruciatingly hot in Medellín, which was often the case, you saw more bare-chested young men on the streets than you ever wanted to see, and Pablo and Gustavo were no exception to that fashion of necessity. Even then, ever since Gustavo had noticed that he wanted Pablo, it had felt good to stare at his skin, yet not nearly as good as it felt now, with his dick inside of him and Pablo’s face lit up by the distinctive look of pain mixed with pleasure. His gaze roamed over every square inch, curly chest hair, the dark nipples, hints of muscles beneath soft fat, the black hair pointing the way to his dick, and up again, to a pair of biceps strong enough to hold their own against Gustavo in countless arm wrestling contests. “Fuck, Pablo,” he breathed shallowly, devoted veneration ringing as clear as church bells, and the shadowy smile on Pablo’s lips grew by a fraction.

And then, Gustavo lost the entire rest of his mind, because Pablo began to move, slow at first but soon faster. The tight heat moved around Gustavo, stimulating him so perfectly that it felt as if Pablo’s ass had been made for this and only this reason. Gustavo could not hold back anything anymore. He moaned, Pablo’s name falling from his lips like a prayer again and again, and then _Pablo_ groaned even louder, and that just spurred Gustavo on further, listening to these beautiful sounds his cousin was making for him, just for him, because he was fucking himself on his dick. It made Gustavo feel far too light-headed to be healthy, but he didn’t care, because he had Pablo right where he belonged, and he kept watching Pablo, his gorgeous face, stark lines of his body, untainted olive skin, until the pleasure left him so feeble that he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Pablo rode him as if his life depended on it, and perhaps it did, in a way, or maybe not, Gustavo didn’t know anymore, he didn’t know _anything_ anymore, would never know anything again, because all he needed was Pablo like this, hot and tight and soft like a girl and ruthless and his big eyes and his red lips and hearing him moan like this, so loud, so uninhibited, and – –

“Gustavo,” Pablo groaned, and Gustavo felt something break inside of him, something changing, irrevocably, the sound of _his name_ groaned by Pablo like that, it made him feel reborn, different than before, better, like he wasn’t just a small criminal in a big, uncaring world, it made him feel things he hadn’t thought possible, it made him feel affection so strong it should go by another name, truly –

“I love you, brother,” Gustavo whispered, a sentence that surprised him and yet felt completely natural and the most reasonable thing to say, ever; it was all that his entire life up until now had been leading up to. He wasn’t sure Pablo had heard him. The slap of flesh against flesh was loud, and Pablo was still moaning, so it was entirely possible that he hadn’t heard, and Gustavo found himself praying that this was true, that he hadn’t, because even when he was balls-deep inside of Pablo, that seemed like a boundary he was not supposed to cross. To keep Pablo from reacting even if he had heard it, Gustavo raised a hand, grabbed a fistful of beautiful curls, and tugged at them harshly, and then he felt Pablo come on him, but more importantly, he felt his insides constricting in a way that made him see stars, darkness and lights replacing his entire vision while he was coming too, inside of his cousin.

When he came to his senses again, the first thing he noticed was Pablo’s head resting on Gustavo’s shoulder, his cousin’s breath coming fast and harsh, his skin sticky with sweat. Gustavo didn’t move, because he lacked the strength to do so, because he wanted to keep being like this for a little longer, half-crushed beneath Pablo, but most importantly because Pablo had told him not to. After an eternity, Pablo stood up in uncharacteristically awkward motions, grunting faintly, until he stood next to Gustavo. Pablo closed his jeans and took a disapproving glance at the missing buttons of his shirt. “I’ll take your share to replace this,” Pablo told him. He was evidently not entirely recuperated because his voice remained strained, even a bit tired, but his tone said that he was back to business. Gustavo just nodded, unable to do anything but agree in this situation. Pablo sighed. “We have to get out of here.”

They wouldn’t talk about it, Gustavo understood in that moment and braced himself. They’d never talk about it until they died. Talking about it would mean making it real, after all, and perhaps it was better that it was not real, only a shared fever dream that would never be repeated. That made Gustavo feel sad in a way he couldn’t explain. He closed his jeans and tugged down his shirt to hide Pablo’s semen drying on his skin. Pablo was already on his knees next to Moreno, rummaging in his things for the money, so Gustavo did the same with Gómez. He didn’t find cash on him, but at least he found the two-way radio he had watched him buy – they could either resell that or keep it. Gustavo imagined it could come in quite handy. He also took a look at the content of his pockets, strewn on the ground and covered in Gómez’ blood, and only picked up the dollar note and his key.

When he stood up again, Pablo appeared at his side. Gustavo braced himself to return to normal, but Pablo thwarted this plan by grabbing his wrist, surprisingly gentle. “Here,” Pablo murmured as he clasped a thin golden bracelet around his wrist. Gustavo recognized it. It was Moreno’s. Pablo must have heard him compliment it yesterday, must have remembered it, and must have decided that gifting it to Gustavo was a good idea, and each of these thoughts on its own was a good one, but together...

He felt very soft somewhere deep inside of him for a moment, a feeling he didn’t appreciate much. This softness made him feel vulnerable and weak, and that in turn made him feel useless. But Pablo looked him in the eyes, and there was a longing in his eyes that Gustavo knew all too well. Suddenly, he was sure that it had all been real, even though they would not talk about it. Actions spoke louder than words. He smiled at Pablo, and Pablo smiled at him, and that was when Gustavo knew that whatever had happened today would happen again, and that was _good_. “Thank you,” he said and reverently brushed against the bracelet with the tips of his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> They mugged the oligarch & his wife for around 18,500 Colombian pesos (~1,140 dollars in 1969). This doesn’t sound like much, but adjusted to inflation, that’s ~7,800 of today's dollars! That means that Pablo’s share of 35% is worth ~2,700 of today’s dollars. Which really isn’t something to sneer at, I think, for half an hour of work. I wish I made that kind of money.
> 
> What can I say, these two just inspire me to no end, haha. I realize that this is about 60% smut but what can ya do, right, sometimes ya just gotta write some good old-fashioned smut! Concrit is, as always, welcome, especially concerning characterization and dialogue. :)


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